Venia is Vestri
by kicksomeclover
Summary: The hardest thing any of us will ever do is live. Harder still is living together in peace.This isn't the story of a warrior princess, or a brave leader. This is the story of one who always followed, the loyal sidekick who became an accidental legend...
1. Chapter 1

Innocent Beginnings

I don't think a hero is a special breed of person, or even an untouchable being of unrivaled stature and integrity. I don't think a hero is a glorified god or goddess of the myths that surround and entertain our culture. Even Arthur himself was not out of the ordinary.

That's what a hero is: ordinary. There is the potential in every person alive to be a hero, to triumph over whatever they perceive to be a threat to the general goodness of their world. It seemed to me that there could be neither real goodness nor real evilness. There were only decisions. Surely both sides have equal tails of woe and misfortune. The Saxons, I am sure, believed they had every right to the islands of Britain… perhaps they even believed that they were doing the right thing. If we were not fighting a foreign enemy we would always be fighting each other. Always will the definitions of wrong and right be so different for so many.

I, however, didn't believe in either.

The world where what is wrong and what is right do not matter is the world where a higher understanding has been reached. A world where forgiveness reigns.

The rain came in waves that day. Line after line of incorrigible gray sheets slanting from the heavens to the very ground we trod on. Or more aptly put: the very mud we sank in.

For some un-godly reason Arlene appeared immune to the bogs downward suction as she bounced eagerly along the path between the saturated ferns and brambles. Even after these 10 years it was still so strange to see the child I had known since birth so very excited. Normally she was a wretch of a child, always complaining and finding ways to spurn or generally abuse Brennus and I. Ah yes Brennus, I couldn't help but laugh playfully as I watched him dig handfuls of worms in his gorilla like arms as he swung down the path. Of course he would have to eat them, what else were worms for? Granted, he was but six years of age.

The occasional crow terrified us all by swooping from the increasing number of saturated trees into the clearing in order to pluck the ripe worms from the damp soil. Yet, there were never any signs of the songbirds that somehow still managed to sing on miserably cold afternoons such as these. My black mane clung soaking wet to my forehead. I had never had Arlene's luck in keeping my hair anywhere near respectable, her curls always seemed perfect, even now as they hung down in sodden waves of barley clinging evermore to her back. The thing that did separate me, and was perhaps my only saving grace, were my eyes. They were the kind of blue never before seen on one with such dark hair. It was "unnatural" I was told, but I enjoyed the attention.

There we continued, crashing and bounding along through the windy mounds of shrub towards the huge wall of green that lay ahead. We loved the forest, all three of us. It was a sanctuary. Even on days like this as the branches and leaves were so interwoven that some parts of the floor remained dry and only droplets and the odd streams of water made it from the canopy to our heads. I think we loved it so much because it was a break from the farm life we were accustomed to. On a good day we would try climbing to the top of the smaller fir trees and play games where we were some foreign animals leaping from tree to tree, and Brennus would always take it one step too far and disgust us by eating a handful of pine cones or even squirrel remains. Then we would decide instead to challenge him to a stick-fighting duel, which I have to admit I was rather good at. I always ended up making the other two cry.

Today we nestled into a ditch covered over by lower bushes. It had remained dry and the dust was perfect for drawing in. As long as I kept my wet clothing from dripping onto it that is. I propped myself up against the trunk and began to sketch. The three of us retold stories we had heard from our parents and grandparents. Stories about ladies who lived in lakes, and Arthur and his knights, Boadicea and Prasutagus, and elves and pixies and even more realistic stories of Rome and the great teachers who lived there! I was 10 years old and so full of hope for the future, for the great things I would do, for the knight who would come and believe I was a princess and we would go away together - The same hope that every little girl in the world has had at one time or another.

They say that in order to become an adult you must first be disillusioned…

I supposed my disillusionment started when every barbarian known to man began to use Southern England as a giant doorway. So much for Arthur and his great knights, where were they when the villages burned? So much for magic and elves, if there were magic I would quickly have made myself the greatest shaman of all and ended the struggle. Nothing was real, nothing that I had believed was real. It was funny though, that even in the worst of times I still found myself closing my eyes and wishing for that miracle… wishing that someone had been joking and that there really were knights and princesses and magic… that goodness was real.

The more time I spent watching the elders and men defend our township and the more time I spent listening to the talk of the dying Norse invaders I started to wonder why. Why there needed to be so much blood, so much argument… and over what? Couldn't we agree to live peacefully? No, this wasn't a fairytale.. and we were certainly not standing in a fairy ring. For the older I got the more I was made to fight with sticks, only the play fighting with Brennus became more like practice and the stick became more like metal and before I knew it I was holding the walls with everyone else. I did very little compared to the men but as the years went by and the defenders of our meager citadel grew scarce my role became larger.

I watched myself transform from a rotundity of a floppy haired child to a slender and well-toned chancer. My skill, if we may call it that, with a blade was not remarkable nor did it incite any awe; it was simply a cut and slash style bestowed upon me by swift and careless training. I learned more as I went and by the luck of the draw I lived long enough to learn to wield a sword with some kind of accuracy. The more confident I grew the more I felt as though it would never end and could never end. I had spent so long slinging, ducking, diving, and stabbing that if I were to stop I may just cease to exist altogether.

Arlene had also changed. She was no longer the golden haired princess of the pride, her hair had turned mousy with her teenage years and she had also picked up a sword, though rather reluctantly. I never quite trusted her to live through the days and with what some would call love in my heart, I always stayed close to her. She had a gift for accuracy and if allowed to take her time and be where she chose to be she was far more effective with a bow and arrow. How that happened, I will never know. The way I would always recognize her was by her arrogance and overall demeanor, her personality could never change. Her tongue was razor sharp and her glare could stop a grown man in his tracks… although I contributed her growth in bitterness to the death of a young man she had grown fond of in earlier years. It was only when she climbed into the loft of the stable where I slept soundly in the straw and cried herself to sleep with her forehead on my back that I understood what had happened. I lay wide-awake that night, afraid to move, for fear of disturbing her. It was then that I realized she was family to me.

Brennus was more my family by blood. He had grown into a strapping young man, dark-haired like myself but also a more ruddy colour with darkened eyes. Finally my cousin had grown into his name, he was the raven. He was also my only living relative that I felt any closeness to; we had been raised together in the same cold household with the same strict rules. His father, my uncle Cadeyrn, took over parenting of both of us as my parents had passed on along with his mother. Cadeyrn was now the town's leader both in battle and in life. He was never a particularly loving man but he didn't do either of us badly, he taught us the skills we needed to survive. Nevertheless he taught Brennus how to handle a chariot whereas I had been somewhat neglected in that department. As a moody young girl that had upset me as she who came before us, the great Boadicea had been a remarkable warrior and now it seemed that I could not be trusted to care for myself. Still, later on I realized that perhaps I was better off without a chariot to worry about.

Bad eventually went to worse, I could tell by the way the remaining villagers began to bury beautiful torcs, prime beef and coins in piles beneath the earth; an offering to the Gods that they may provide the miracle we all wished for in the dark. The miracle never came. The Saxon invaders pushed many tribes back into the hills where they remained and I heard tales of others fleeing west. We stayed as best we could, though we were being pushed farther back.

One night I lay quietly on my back staring up at what I could see of the sky from a ring ditch. I could make out a few stars. Arlene sat close examining the atlas of scars blazing out across her torso. A fire burned softly in the distance keeping away the feeding insects for some time.

"Are you tired?" Whenever Arlene said anything it always seemed to come as a command and not a question. I suppose this would have confused anyone else but I was well used to it.

"I suppose. I had a rest earl-"

"I meant of this." Smirking a little I shifted onto my stained elbows to see her a little better. The expression on her face was the same as usual, a mask of stone with dull brown eyes peering hard back at me.

How was I to answer such a question? Of course I was tired but I knew no other life. The Iceni and those who came after had long been defending this front. We farmed and were quite successful traders but now the emphasis was on defending our wealth and lands.

I chose not to reply for anything I said would betray the feeling in my heart. I did not know pain like she did. Arlene would not let it go, something was on her mind.

"I want to end it Aoife. I do. I don't know how… I know I am no Boadicea," I hesitated in pointing out that Boadicea had actually failed and our tribe had almost been completely wiped out in the years to follow. I watched as she kneeled and gazed at the sky with a longing expression as she spoke, "Still, there must be something we can do."

_We?_ Hang on a second I am certainly no incredible fortress. I fight to live a few more hours, not to save a kingdom. If I were in charge, we'd all be dead. I had no dreams or ideas this big, I was the one who sat around praying that someone _else_ would save us. I was not brave or a leader, I was nothing. Never before had I even considered choosing my own fate. "Don't you think so Aoife?"

Still stunned, it took me some time to reply.

"Well, I really don't know what you're getting at…"

She appeared to be frustrated with my apparent stupidity. Was I supposed to read minds?

"I have heard through talk," _oh this sounds promising. _I fought the urge to roll my eyes, who can trust idle gossip? "That Arthur and his knights reside in the North at Hadrian's Wall. It is said that he is a great King to the Picti, they call him the King of Britons." Where was she going with this? I heard sounds from the surrounding thickets. Though I was more scared of incurring Arlene's wrath than being throttled by whatever was creeping around in the scrub. "Don't you think that if this is true and he were to know the struggle we face that he would help us?"

Somewhat distracted I attempted to keep my eyes on Arlene and away from the trees.

"Yes, I suppose he would." _If he exists at all_

"Exactly. I think someone should tell him." If it had occurred to me that by someone she meant herself and that by herself she meant both of us I would've 'accidentally' stabbed her right then and there. To go northward really was suicide. We had no horses of our own and it was cold up there, more so than here… and who knew what lay between. Other tribes, enemies, animals… anything under the sun, it was madness to even consider.

"Oh right right yeah, someone should definitely tell him." The noise was becoming increasingly irregular, not like an animal, it was heavier. Breaking more twigs than usual.

"I'm glad you think so because I want you to accompany me on the ride to Hadrian's Wall."

"Oh of course, nothing like a nice tri- what!"

Completely gob smacked I whirled around to stare at her full on. She showed no signs of weakness; she was dead set on this idea. I was going with her whether I wanted it or not.

I was even more horrified to learn that my enemy in the bushes was no more than an oversized rabbit. Probably an escapee of Crazy Bryanna's, she liked to feed up animals and then eat them, pointless really because not many people enjoyed eating yellow lumps of fat.

"Are you completely mad, woman!"

My outrage and caustic remarks went unaided. She really was a fortress, she cared not what others thought and showed less emotion than the most seasoned warlord. The following morning she awoke me early and talked me into stealing horses. I managed to steal the stupidest horse of the bunch and I named him Chance, in honour of my own pathetic state. He was a tall beast, far too tall for me but I was a desperate thief, and he was mismatched… his coat was like the burnished sun and his mane was as black as mine. He would do me just fine.

I wanted so badly to say goodbye to Brennus but I knew that we would return in a few days when Arlene realized what utter nonsense this trip was. She was sure to become frightened if I told her enough stories and once we met our first scuffle with a neighbouring tribe she would be sure to want to come back home. Yes, I would see Brennus in good time and be properly punished for stealing… and maybe flogged a little if I were lucky.

"Hurry up!" A harsh whisper interrupted my reverie as I watched my hut in the half-light of the morning. I had never left my home before; this was a new feeling to me. I wanted to hold on to it. Realizing I would rather not have her abandon me to the wolves I hurried after her with what little food I had gathered and we set off before the majority of the people had time to realize that we were missing… before _I_ had time to realize we were missing.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: Thank you very much to ElvenStar5! All this is for you. Thank you for reviewing. much appreciated! I'll go review some of your work.

Fear

It was the morning of the seventh day; this trip had already outlasted my expectations. I was exhausted and confused. We had ridden hard, and I was not used to riding a horse.. I was sore and I had no idea where we were. Half the time I couldn't believe that Arlene knew where we were. It was like she had this built in map to where we were going. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised me, when we were little she had built a small obsession in her heart. She loved the old tales and myths, could never really get enough of them and she always knew when I was making up my own. It would not surprise me if she had memorized all the directions she had ever heard to any mystical place.

Kneeling down beside Chance's hoofs I inspected the ground. The field had fresh tracks, fresh human tracks. So far we had not encountered many problems. A few unfriendly villagers and the odd attack of freezing weather but we had not camped anywhere long enough to fully soak up an atmosphere, much to my dismay. I had not realized that we would be sleeping so little. I was running on pure adrenaline, day after long day. I did not know how far we had traveled but something told me it was not far enough.

The mist was heavy, rolling in thick patches across the moors. Endless expanses of long grass and mud, absolutely useless for farming of any kind, but I suppose there weren't really any people around to care much.

I was anxiously awaiting Arlene's return. She had gone ahead to scout out the area and 'maybe' bring back some food. That was heaven to me right now, food. How I missed it. In all my foolishness I had managed to lose most of our supply to a marauding band of crows within the first two days of travel.

There seemed to be several crows around me wherever we went. I walked in aimless circles around Chance and every now and then I would peek out from under my hair at the three crows that sat on a lonely stump not too far away. This was truly a bad omen.

"If you want food, you are fresh out of luck!" Two of them squawked in reply, and the other flapped his wings to remove the dew. Shaking my head I continued tracing circles around Chance.

I studied the tracks in the mud once more. Perhaps a band of weary travelers had passed through here before me. Just as hungry and confused as I am I suppose. I was not skilled enough to tell the sex of the travelers or how fast they were traveling so in fact I felt rather silly even pretending that I knew what I was doing. I felt embarrassed and there was no one except Chance who had turned his neck to look at me. Pushing him lightly on the nose, I sighed in frustration, stood up and looked back at the way we had come. I saw nothing but what was in front of me. The landscape was all the same, all unfamiliar, all cold, and all endless. It had only been 7 days; we could still turn around and go back, right?

Sighing I wandered over to a nearby rock and sat silently in the mud with my aching back resting up against the cold surface. Arlene and I had decided to keep our war paint and clothes on just in case we met any resistance it was better to look intimidating than innocent. Now though it just seemed uncomfortable and just another reminder of how out of place I was. My thoughts drifted to home as I unwillingly shut my eyes. Sleep carried me away on thoughts of tree forts, stick fights and Brennus…

I wasn't sure when it was that I decided to go on ahead without her. I wasn't even sure if it was love, worry or hungry that spurred me onwards. Even if she had left me to pursue this goal herself I still had a hope of finding her. Arlene had always been headstrong and a little snooty if anything but she wouldn't really have abandoned me to find my own way through the landscape… would she?

The moors had long since been replaced with trees, rocks and hills. I climbed more than walked. Chance often walked idly alongside me and was patient with me as I stopped at brooks cold enough to soothe the burning on my feet. I would tell you how many days we wandered but the days had bled into one endless task. Nightfall no longer meant sleep to me: it meant worry and danger..

I ate little, and spared no energy. A combination headed for disaster. This was no longer a thought out and heroic mission it was a desperate scramble through the woods like a blind woman in search of a lost friend. Was it ever really a thought out mission? I wasn't a leader I just followed her because I couldn't think of anything else to do really.

Sighing I realized how truly buggered I was.

Strange birdcalls, like those I had never encountered before, followed me on my trail blazing. They sounded at odd intervals and I pushed down the thoughts that crept into my head like blood from a wound. I didn't want to believe I was being hunted by beings that were essentially my own people. Realistically though it was impossible for me not to be spotted by other tribes as I moved unabashedly through the wilderness. I supposed if they were going to kill me they would've done it already, I think that they were merely curious as to who this strange woman was and why she stumbled onwards as if she knew where she was going. I posed no threat, that much was obvious, and so for the time being I was safe… at least from them.

The wind blew strong and made whistling sounds as it sailed purposefully through the evergreen trees. I covered my eyes with one hand and led Chance with the other, praying that no branches caught me in the eye. If I truly did go blind, I would be completely out of luck. My feet steadied me one leading the other, picking over tree roots on an already marked path probably used by the people of the forest. The trail passed along a steep embankment above a river or creek about 40 feet down to my left and the forest rose up to my right. It made me increasingly nervous, one false move and I was a goner. The strong wind pushed my now feather-like frame about like the branches above my head. Steadying myself against Chance I stifled a smile as I realized the absurdity of my fear... I couldn't be blown off a cliff. I wasn't that frail... was I?

The wind suddenly changed and carried a foul stench. _Deer? _I struggled through the wind, attempting to breathe more than smell. Cringing I braced myself and tried desperately to keep my reddening eyes open. There was song in the wind.. voices mingled together… but then maybe I was just losing my mind. Pushing Chance towards the trees I began to climb up the embankment out of the wind. Chance opted to wait out the storm on the trail. Shaking my head I looked back at him before continuing on all fours up the slope. Hands dirty and red from travel clung hopefully to tree roots and the trunks of the saplings so as I wouldn't fall to a very unpleasant death.

Once I was free from the clutches of the gale, I turned around onto my back and sat on the slope looking downwards to where the storm was still hitting Chance full-force, but he would be all right. He was a sturdy beast who had already put up with so much. I wondered how much longer he would last and in turn my thoughts returned to how much longer I would last.

Pensively, I licked my chapped lips and took a few nervous glances over my shoulders into the darkness of the woods. In this quiet shelter, with the wind growling at my feet I held back the tears of pained truth. I was forgotten. I almost gave into the emotions of the weak when the smell caught my nose again.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and turned back to my hands and feet making my way slowly to the top of the slope. Deer usually smelled rank when they were nearby but this smell was different. It was like a thousand bodies burning at once. Curious and frightened I came to my feet at the top of the cliff and scrutinized the trees ahead. After some time I took an apprehensive step forward, moving the lower branches with my weather bitten arms. My senses were keen from a history of prowling the countryside of my homeland. _Home._ My heart leapt and contracted in a vice of regret. Sniffling back the pain once more I continued full force through the trees.

Something moved swiftly to my right. Tightening my jaw I put one hand to the hilt of my sword. It had been so long since I had used my weapon and I was now weak, I didn't know how much I could do but I would fight to my death if I had to. Death no longer seemed like such a terrible thing now every part of my being ached.

The shadow whipped back across the path directly ahead of me. Some foul creature was dancing in the murk and mist, taunting me. I had not known fear in some years, at home I had not been afraid, I knew my enemy and faced them with valor. Now, now I was quivering sack of emotions and I willed myself to disappear. I was a coward.

"Show yourself!" It took all my power to keep my voice steady and strong. Apparently I was heard.

A shrill chorus of laughter rang in my ears and through the carpeted forest. A sharp intake of breath was all I needed to calm my wildly beating heart, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. Should I call out again? "I tell you, show yourself!" This time my voice was far weaker. The laughter ended abruptly and a breeze caught the edge of my worn cow-skin boots

A cold silence blared in my ears. No more movement.

_Run._

I tore through the trees, brambles catching my legs and spilling my blood to the earth in small spatters leaving a trail as I galloped over logs, over rocks, bruising my feet further. Branches caught my hair but I ambled onwards pulling myself free each time.

Crashing through the brush I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, fear pumping my legs faster. Looking back over my shoulder briefly my right food hit a root and sent my carcass sprawling to the warm earth at my feet.

Spitting the debris from my mouth I pushed my upper torso away from the ground and I became aware of my surroundings. The stench was at its most powerful. My tormentor now forgotten I closed my eyes tightly and prepared myself to gaze upon whatever unholy mess lay just ahead of my nose.


	3. Chapter 3

Death is a Dialogue Between the Spirit and the Dust

"It's ok boy, we're almost there now."

Chance was squealing and groaning from under my constant flogging as we raced faster and farther towards the great wall now in the distance. His hooves were splitting; his gait lessening and I knew it would only be a matter of time before he joined the other souls in the forest. Drawing my eyebrows closer together I concentrated on forgetting all that I had seen and keeping my mind on reaching the monstrosity of stone that lay ahead.

Dust ran in short clouds behind us and I ignored the farmers who stopped to stare at us as we rode onwards. I could only pray that the guards at the gate would allow us to enter. Shouts went up as we neared the main gate.

An elderly traveler had directed my dazed and terrified form to the road that would lead me to the main gate. I had not had time to question him and for some reason I didn't want to. I still remembered the concern in his eyes and I merely nodded and scrambled onto Chance's back. I gave the man no second thought nor wondered why he had been there. All I remembered of him were his eyes… cold and sad.

I had tied my wrists to Chance's bridle sometime in the night in order to stay on his back. I could no longer find the strength or will to hold on. The leather chaffed and tore at the soft flesh of my wrists. I closed my eyes and listened to the calls of the guards go up. Every time I opened my eyes I still saw them. _Maggots..._ Shuddering, I willed it away. It wouldn't be until later that I would notice that they had never ordered the gate to be closed as I neared the main courtyard of the Wall. I passed through the first gate with ease I knew this because the light changed behind my closed eyes.

I knew I must open my eyes, I must find out if Arthur did live here.. I must tell someone the things that I had seen. It was so hard. Chance was buckling. A gate creaked and was pulled open I could hear people… people, a crowd maybe. Squinting, I slid further to Chance's side, unable to keep myself completely upright and through the haze and heat I could make out faces. People, many people, a crowd, children, men, women, brown, stone, hands… _cheers... _They were cheering!

In an instance that felt like an eternity Chance's body finally gave way and we drifted downwards. Like a dam breaking we washed ashore into the court of Arthur. The ground was firm and burned as my side ran along its surface until crashing into a warm furry body and stopping short. My wrists were in pieces as well as Chance's body.

With what little energy I had left I lifted my fingers and ran them up and down the stallion's bloodied torso.

"Go dte tu slan dluthchara."

Hands on my body pulled and tugged, voices called up in the air strange things that I did not understand. Closing my eyes once more I let unpaid rest claim my body as its own. The roar of the crowd dying on my ears…


	4. Chapter 4

My Sails

The ocean rolled out in turquoise waves against the white cliffs. Gulls calling against the roar of the foam, a chilling breeze whipping the slender grass against the naked flesh of my legs. I smiled, the warmth of my own peace and happiness bittersweet against my cheeks. Opening my eyes I saw my skin pale and flawless as the clouds themselves. No more unsightly scars to mottle my skin, my hair free and blowing beautifully in the wind. No matted blood, I checked my hands, no blood at all.

Just then a ship caught my sight - a magnificent ship, with sails as high and wide as my village. There were no men on the ship it merely floated a safe distance from the rocky shoreline. I had never seen anything quite like it, I breathed in and out smiling happily. It was wonderful; it was freedom.

"You know, a ship is safest in harbor," a voice from behind caused my eyebrows to shift upwards in surprise and I turned to face the man. He was familiar in some way. He smiled kindly in my direction, "but it cannot stay there."

I nodded in understanding. To be splendid and unconfined a ship had to leave harbor and face the danger and obstacles the sea presented.

The man moved closer, his deep red cloak ruffling in the wind.

"Intrepid spirits seek victory over that which seems impossible."

He touched my cheek. I was not fearless. I wished myself to speak to him, to tell him so but my spirit wanted only to listen.

"Look," He turned me back to face the ship out near the horizon, "see those sails?" I nodded and he rested a hand on my bare shoulders, his hands cold to the touch. "It is the sails and not the sea that decides where the vessel goes."

I tried to understand and when I thought I could I turned to find the man gone and replaced with a field. The field was hilly with trees on both sides. Frowning I wondered at the loud thumps, the rumbling of the earth… and then I looked more closely. On the horizon was a line of men, flags waving menacingly against a reddened sky. Confused I looked behind me but the ship had vanished and been replaced with an army of faceless warriors. Where I was standing struck me as odd.

My side stung and when I investigated my hands were covered with heavy red-brown blood, scars unfurling across my torso, my eyes pained and dry. The war paint of my people melted with the blood of the dying voices that rose up around my ears.

The drumming was almost too loud to take.

"HUSH!"

I awoke with a start. My breathing was shallow and rapid as I sat up straight staring into the wooden wall, the straw pinching my raw wounds. Immediately I began coughing, the dust had tickled my insides and I was thirsty.

"Here." I looked up with confused blue eyes at the green-eyed war hero now kneeling at my side. His unruly wild hair sitting atop his strong face, jaw set in a neutral stance. His stare was intense and I thought it might be impossible for him to ever give a half expression. My eyes wandered downwards to the thick, leather-woven shirt covering his chest in an armor-like manner. He was a soldier, no question about it. In one tanned and dirtied hand he held a clay mug out to me. "Drink."

The even and commanding voice convinced me that it was probably a good idea to do as he said. Beyond the rim of the mug I saw six other men as well as two ladies and a boy crowding a doorway. They were behind bars, staring curiously in at me.

_Wait just one moment._

Dropping the mug into the straw I glanced horrified at the green-eyed soldier and then looked sharply around me. This was a stable, the thumping was horses kicking the stall, but it wasn't just a stable, there were bars… it was some kind of cage contraption. Seeing my obvious fear the man attempted to calm me. He made soothing noises and tried to coax me to lie back on the measly blanket but I had other ideas.

Scrambling to my feet I was hit with a wave of pain but held it back, it was only bruising I would live. Reaching for my sword I patted an empty place at my side and once again my fear returned ten fold. The man was also standing now, and holding his hands out in some kind of attempt to show me he was harmless. The massive sword at his side told my subconscious differently.

Noticing the handle of what was once a broom nestled in the straw I shuffled a toe beneath it and flipped it up into my hands as Brennus had taught me in the woods when I was much younger. _Brennus._ I swallowed hard.

The man took a step backwards and opened his mouth to speak, his eyes never leaving my form.

"Arthur," Out of the corner of my eye I saw the curly haired man with the strange facial hair shaking his head, the others looking on at the scene eagerly.

_Arthur!_

"You are Arthur?" My voice came out much smaller than even I had expected but in the silence of the building they had all heard me. Slowly the handle dropped from my hands and landed softly in the straw but the sound seemed to echo for miles. She was right, Arlene was right. This had to be him; it had to be the Arthur.

He simply nodded.

"I am." He moved his head and seemed to be considering something. I made no move to speak or otherwise and so he continued. "You can understand us?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Good." He glared at me head on once more, his eyes burning a hole into my skull. This was a real warrior, a real man of legend… not like anyone I had ever encountered before. "Tell me why you have come."

How should I answer such a request? Should I tell him the truth, would he laugh? I had wanted to tell him all that I had seen but now found no words. No courage to speak to such a being. Any words I had were not fit for the ears of such a God. I was nothing.

"To beg your help," I trailed off. In the distance I could hear the daily life of the village the sounds of people beyond the walls, not my people, never my people. "At least, that's what I thought." I mumbled the last part half-heartedly. I wasn't sure why I had continued, why I had dared come here and insult Arthur and his knights with my boundless stupidity.

He seemed shocked and the men moved at the bars restlessly. I willed myself not to look at them but as always that was futile. Closest to the door was a terrifyingly wild looking man with braided locks and ink markings on his face, he seemed preoccupied with whittling away at a piece of wood but I knew he was watching. Beside the braided man was a taller ginger haired man with small blue eyes he seemed to hold sympathy somewhere beyond his stare. A young looking man with thick facial hair and bright blue eyes looked out from beneath his shaggy mop of dark hair, his eyes darting back and forth from Arthur to myself. Then there was the man who had called Arthur's name, telling him silently not to approach me. With the men there was a very noble dark-haired woman, who seemed to be gazing silently at Arthur, with muscles taut and ready to defend him if needs be. _His Queen. _

Behind them something stirred and a door was heard closing as the large, bald man reappeared with the skinnier taller man. The taller man had a strange scar covering his eyes. They were all warriors. Another woman clutching a small blonde-haired boy glared displeased at them and the large man offered the excuse that they had to urinate outside. She seemed to have some kind of affection for the taller, scarred man.

"Help? **You** wanted **our** help?" I flexed my toes uncomfortably within my boots, why would Arthur question this? Surely he had people lining up to receive his aid. He was Arthur, King of Britons. Why was my pathetic state so hard to believe? There was much more going on here than I could yet understand so I tempted a change of subject.

"Why have you caged me?" The young, blue-eyed man scoffed loudly. It was my turn to glare menacingly at someone. I thought they were supposed to help the innocent!

"Galahad!" the ginger haired man reprimanded the youth. Arthur never looked away from me, not once. He seemed like he was expecting something.

"She's frightened." Observed the braided man, peering out from beneath his hair at my figure, his knife paused above the block of wood in his hand. He was right, and for that reason I did nothing to offer anything to the contrary, I simply looked away, ashamed.

"Arthur, it cannot be her!" The youth known as Galahad protested loudly, he appeared impatient. "Look at her! Tristan's right she **is** frightened. She can't even talk!"

"Silence!" One word from Arthur and the room fell silent once more. Only his queen Guinevere dared speak now.

"Her wounds." She almost whispered the words as everyone's attention was brought to the scabs that covered my being. I always did heal quickly I was not surprised that my strength had returned quickly after my sleep. _My sleep! _The dream returned. Before my waking eyes I saw the ship, the faceless warriors, my hands… bloodied. My breathing became rapid once more. What did it all mean and Arlene, where was she? Had they found her? I wanted my friend, I wanted my hut I wanted my family.

"Girl, what is your name?" His voice seemed softer now as I stared at the ground, the visions from the forest crawling agonizingly into my head once more. _Rotting…_

I didn't feel soft anymore, this new feeling, this heat, and this forceful pain… this anger. I was angry! I had not felt real anger before. Not once.

"I will tell you my name when you let me go." My head came up level with his but I tilted my chin a little higher daring him to move closer. "You have not yet given me a reason for this cage and I don't know what in the Heavens you think you are doing!" He moved to speak but found himself cut off. "I came here for you help, your **help**. Although, I don't know why I would be so foolish as to think that you would do anything for me. You let our villages burn and still we call you King, and still we hold you up to be the hero of legends. Sure, you may be a hero to these people but how can anyone call you King of Britons? You are not my King, sir. You deserve not my love or respect and to think I thought of myself as less than you only moments before now."

Surprised with myself, I enjoyed this new feeling. Anger. It felt justified for some reason. For so long I had allowed my people to be slaughtered with disturbing regularity but I had never questioned it, to me it was a natural occurrence. Death was my life. The people in the woods, they had not been saved either. How was this man a great savior? He had let us all be slaughtered! Then he had the audacity to imprison an innocent looking for help. I was wrong… he was no God.

The bitterness and hatred in my voice had poured all over the knights. They stood glowering, all but their queen. If I had not been mistaken, I saw understanding in her regal eyes. The curly haired knight looked set to rob me of my miserable life.

"Your name." He said it through gritted teeth, ignoring my outburst.

"Let. Me. Go." I was equally stubborn. Where had this newfound bravery come from? Perhaps it was the result of the anger coursing through my veins. Is this what it took? I thought briefly about picking up the handle again and going for him but I almost laughed out loud at the suicide that would be. All of a sudden I wanted to live a bit longer just to find all this out. I also wanted to live a bit longer to find Arlene. How she would scorn me for speaking to her hero in such a manner. _Arlene. _"Where is she?"

He seemed taken back.

"Who?"

I raised a hand to my forehead and at the swift movement the men flinched but I was no threat, if only they knew that. I had a pain in my head like a hammer crushing my skull to fragments. My vision was red with a splatter of blood and I drew my hand back. It was gone. I was imagining things again.

"Arlene."

The men looked to each other in confusion and the pain returned to my body as I said her name. I had failed her. I left her in the wilderness, she hadn't made it here and I had. She was gone now and I had left her. Visions of her roaming the countryside made my heart feel like it was bleeding and I turned away from them all and faced a corner of the stall. Both hands cradled my head and I closed my eyes willing the guilt to go away… another new feeling.

"She was your friend." Guinevere seemed to understand this body language. Her senses were keen. Then the stories were true, she had been a person of the forest… one of the pictii. Taking a deep breath I whirled around to face Arthur once more.

"Please. You must let me go." I had to find her now it was the only way to quell this new feeling. This guilt. I would plead with him but he seemed unmoved and I tried again. "If you don't then you have let one more person die!"

"Lady, you will learn respect. We have risked our lives for the people of this damned island. Forsaken our homes for your peoples' welfare so you will hold your tongue." The curly haired man spoke firmly, staring straight at me with dark, almost black eyes daring me to defy his wishes. It must be Lancelot, Arthur's right hand man. Lancelot had seemed so wonderful in tales. The story of Badon Hill and how he had risked his life for Guinevere was just one example of his chivalry. Now, all I saw was an arrogant, handsome beast of a man whose eyes spoke murder.

"Lancelot. It's all right." Arthur turned his chin up and breathed in deeply. He seemed frustrated. I thought about giving him my name but my name was all I had now. "I cannot let you go. If you are who I believe you to be then you cannot leave. I am sorry."

I had no time to protest before he opened a gate and left the prison, closing the door behind him he asked the man with the scar over his eye to lock the door.

"NO!" Finally finding strength of voice I yelled at him not to, that he couldn't do this. "I don't understand!" He refused to look back at me and opened the door, letting the sunshine in and he left, the tail of his cloak the last thing I saw. Most of the men left immediately too. The ginger haired man and Lancelot remained a few moments longer, Lancelot giving me a filthy look before tapping the ginger haired man and then they both exited the room. The women had gone too without so much as a second glance.

I remained standing in the prison, as the room grew dark once more. The sound of the door closing stayed in my ears for some time as I merely stood, anger and confusion boiling beneath my skin. How was I supposed to save Arlene if I couldn't leave? Why couldn't I leave? What horrible crime had I committed?

Falling to my knees, alone with the animals next door, I sobbed. I sobbed like the little girl I was. I truly was a coward. If I were anything like a great warrior I would've made them release me. However, I wasn't a great warrior… I was the niece of a warlord at best. _He isn't even a good warlord!_ I laughed a little at my own thoughts and wiped my eyes.

And there, in the dank, darkness of my prison I saw a ship sailing through the abyss.


	5. Chapter 5

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

The dreams continued to plague me to the point where I no longer slept. I would settle into the straw against a far corner and watch the stable hands go about their business all the while I worked on glowering. I think I must've been quite good at shooting daggers because eventually the stable boys were too afraid to look in at the raven-haired captive. Even Jols himself would refuse to look in at me when he came to inspect things.

I would never let on but it bothered me greatly that I had no ally among these men of honor. I also struggled to keep my thoughts bright. It was as though happiness was the last ray of light beaming through the ever dark, cloudy sky soon to be swallowed up by the growing vapor of obscurity. Sighing I shifted restlessly. It had been two nights since I had first met Arthur and his men and in that time none of them had been to question me further. I still lingered over what he had meant. I knew who I was. I was a girl, or more accurately a woman, I fought for my village I had two friends, I had a family, I would have a short life as a mindless drone an- when did I start thinking like that? Never before had I viewed my life as mindless. I was quite content with my life before I started scampering around the countryside.

The door opened interrupting my contemplations. Raising an eyebrow I noted that my visitor was none other than the ginger haired knight. Ah, and he carried with him a tray with a bowl and some kind of gruel. No doubt here to try and wheedle information from me. _So cynical._

"For you." He set it down behind the bars I suppose he was assuming that I would crawl over and attempt to eat it. He could bugger off with that idea.

"How kind." I made no move, just glared unkindly. "And just who decided that after two days of not eating, now would be a great time for soup?"

He squat down, his hair hanging in ragged strands across his face; I thought he was trying to see me more clearly through the gloom but was failing miserably.

"Arthur doesn't believe in unnecessary cruelty." His voice was gruff and honest. I laughed, for the first time since Arlene disappeared, I laughed. It was a good sound.

"Is that why he locks away those who are in need of his aid?" Smirking I tried to hold back my chuckles, "I am truly, truly indebted."

It was quiet again as I shook my head sadly. All the words I could think to say were harsh and sarcastic. I expected him to next tell me that I still didn't know who I was or some such mystical, incredibly vague rubbish. Either that or haul me out and give me a good whipping until I told him something of use. Instead he was pensive for a moment, gazing silently at the straw and then he looked up carefully peering into the shadow.

"Move so that I may see you," I made no such motion. Sighing with frustration, he tried again, "I am Gawain."

"Rather unpleased to meet you my good sir." I could be cocky when there were bars separating us, of course. Take away those bars and I'd probably still be a curled up ball of emotions, rocking back and forth like a mad woman.

"I can take you out of there you know." My eyes grew wide with fear. How did he know what I was thinking? "Arthur told me to take you training." _Phew, that was clos- what?_

"Training?" My voice was shrill and girly as Gawain stood up and moved to open the gate. He didn't fear me anymore than he feared the march hares. "For what?"

"Well, why don't you come out and see?" There was a touch of a smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips as he stood holding the gate open. I was hungry, it was true, and tired, no doubt but perhaps this was more important now. Cautiously I rose to my feet and moved from the shadow to the light. Standing just a few steps from him I inspected him closely, he held no weapons. It was possible that he would not harm me, he didn't look as threatening as the others but I was sure he could be just as deadly. Casting my head downwards, I moved quickly past him.

"Stop there." He was so nonchalant as he caused me to stop still in my tracks with just two words. I was bitter and angry with myself for being such a docile fool, for being afraid. "This way." Instead of leading me to the door he took me down several rows of stalls until we approached a large square center where the wings of the stables met. There on benches were the rest of the knights, minus Arthur. I hung back as Gawain went before me making sure there was no escape for me. The other knights began to notice I was there as they were pulled away from their various duties… if duties were sleeping, eating and messing with horses.

Gawain ignored the fact that they were even there.

"Can you ride?" He motioned to the horses in the stables to the right. I couldn't hold down the smirk I unwillingly allowed to grace my face. Smirking at the people who had locked you away and were known for being bloodthirsty killing machines was probably a very bad idea.

"Not very well."

"Then we'll start there." He wandered off to fetch a suitable steed. I missed Chance, I was certain he had died… in fact that's probably what was in the soup. I shuddered.

"Still frightened?" Galahad seemed amused. I ignored him and looked away, too timid to do much else. What backbone did I have? Lancelot looked up and smirked happily he obviously enjoyed my suffering. Actually I think the only ones who didn't were the large bald man and his friend.

"Here, take his bridle." I received the straps of leather from Gawain and preceded to stand aimlessly with a horse in the middle of perhaps the largest stable I had ever seen in my life. What did he expect me to do?

"Is it such a good idea to give'r a horse?" The large man spoke, looking interestedly at the affair while munching down on something that looked far tastier than my horse soup. Assuming it was horse soup.

"Perhaps not." Gawain sighed and snatched the reins from my hand and quickly tied the young, chestnut coloured mare to a post. "You can fight?"

Could I? Probably not by their standards but I could do alright. Did I really want them to know that though? I just wanted them to let me go and if they thought I was really harmless then maybe they would.

"No." I answered quickly, probably too quickly. It was evident that he did not believe me. The men looked more interested now as they moved to find better viewing spots. Before I knew what was happening Gawain was circling me. Intimidated wasn't even the word for what I felt.

"I find that very hard to believe." I must've looked like a frightened rabbit as the scarred man began to make protests. He told Gawain to leave me be but Gawain replied that he knew what he was doing. Did he really? If he knew how terrified I was, would he still be doing this?

"What makes you believe I can?" Why was I speaking so much, why was I asking questions? My body wanted to run. My mind was screaming at me to run like I had in the forest, granted, that did not do much good. Nevertheless, he couldn't believe that I could fight. My war paint was long gone, my clothes simply looked like they had been torn to look that way and I was dirty enough to hide my scars only my tribal bands showed.

"This." I had no time to register what he had said before I found myself on the floor. He had pushed me! That great oaf of a man had shoved me onto the floor.. the **hard** floor! Had they no manners?

"What do y-" A swift kick to the ribs instantly silenced my protest. Keeping my groans of pain to myself I didn't notice the knights stirring and talking among themselves. The scar-faced man said something about Gawain being wrong. I didn't know all I knew was that he was going to hit me again and I had to do something about it.

With what looked like regret in his eyes he moved to kick me once more and as I was already leaning to one side I simply swept my left foot out sharply and knocked him to the floor. The thud of his sturdy body hitting the dirt was the only thing heard in the stables now. Still stunned at the stupidity of what I had just done I struggled to my feet in time to meet the swing of his fist. Catching his fist with both hands I was taken back by the force behind the blow but it had been so long since I had fought. In the next instant I brought my knee up and caught him hard enough in the soft flesh of his stomach to throw him off guard for a few more seconds. I felt like screaming at myself, questioning my own sanity. I could not win a fight against this man, not ever. I was lucky now because he was not intending to kill me and therefore his blows didn't have much meaning behind them.

By the time I realized he had recovered he already had his hands around my neck and was ramming my back into the hardwood of the support poles. I would have splinters the size of logs in my back after that.

"Aoife you're such a weakling. It's a splinter!" Brennus seemed to enjoy my tears as I dropped the stick and held my tiny finger in my palm. "Grow up."

I wasn't that much of a coward was I? Angered at my own cry of pain I brought my head forward with all the force I could muster and hit him square between the eyes. He flew back sharply clutching his nose and a roar went up from the knights.

"Bitch!" He screeched in amazement, and, was that amusement? Blood began to run down his nose and pooled just above his lip. He appeared amazed and touched it once more studying the blood on his fingertips.

"Wimp." I retorted with a wry grin. The men laughed and shouted for more. Gawain seemed to have an idea and reached for a blunt sword and tossed it near my feet. He knew I could not seriously hurt him.

"We'll see." He motioned for me to pick up the sword as I noted he already had one in hand. They must train here, as I now observed there were many training utensils strewn about the place. I kicked the sword up into my hand as I had done before with the broom handle and just gave him a look that told him all he needed to know. This was beginning to be fun. I knew nothing but scrapping, that is what I had done since I was a little girl and as I said, I always thought I would cease to exist if I stopped fighting. If this man could teach me to defeat new enemies then maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

He began to twirl the sword in a rather threatening manner as he moved closer to me I hadn't ever seen anyone do that before. Brennus tried but never had any success.

Not knowing quite what to do I just stood still showing him that I wasn't afraid. He had to make a blow sometime I just had to wait until he did. Once he lunged forward I quickly met his attack and pushed him backwards. His strength jolted me, I was not used to this. Ducking another swipe, I desperately tried to think of how to get out of this.

My sword met with his and I was jolted by his sheer strength, I was so out of my depth. Clumsy Norsemen, I could handle, skilled Sarmatian knights? Never. I decided it was time to fight dirty. In a flash I knocked his sword to the side and held his wrist there while I kicked him forcefully in the shin. He cried in pain, and for some reason it gave me pleasure. That had never happened before. I enjoyed fighting but I didn't enjoy causing pain or death. What was happening to me? I almost dropped my sword as my brows furrowed in concentration at these new feelings. In those moments Gawain had time to send me sprawling backwards into a saddle rack with enough force to knock me head over heels behind it. Sending out my hands to catch myself I caught the edge of an arrow that had fallen from its bag when I had hit the rack. A thing red line ran from side to side across my right palm, the blood oozing slowly outwards.

With a huff I brought myself to my feet and looked carefully around for the sword I had dropped. The men were laughing gleefully, particularly Gawain who stood back with a smile that lit up his whole face. My whole countenance darkened as I looked upon him, I would show him. Walking around to the other side of the rack I held my injured hand within the other as I continued to scour the ground for my sword. They suddenly became quiet.

"Are you hurt?" Was all Gawain said, with an unusually serious tone.

"Of course I'm hurt you great buffoon!" I could almost see the smoke pouring from my ears, my whole face felt hot with rage.

"Did any blood get on the ground?" Galahad's face too went red as he moved somewhat forward and called out to me.

"I don't know how should I know?" Stupid boy.

Gawain came close but kept some distance.

"It is only a small cut."

"A cut is a cut, Gawain. There is still blood." Lancelot was rather solemn and stood slowly; they were all watching me with what struck me as apprehension. Why did they fear me now?

"Have none of you bled before?" Confused and angry I wondered why they would not tell me what was happening. They said nothing, merely stayed back. I saw Jols run from the room and I looked frantically to Gawain who stared at my hand as though he should do something, but was having an inner struggle.

It was the blood, they were transfixed by the blood… but not just blood, they hadn't cared when Again took a blow, it was **my** blood that concerned them so. To test my theory I held out my hand and stepped towards Again much like a child with a muddy hand would do to another child.

He snapped to attention and all but leapt backwards. Stopping, confused, I stared down at my own hand. I did not understand. Did they just want to mix with the blood of a Briton? I couldn't make myself see sense in this. Just then Arthur burst through the door in a flash of metal and red, demanding that Jols secure the door. I met his gaze, hoping he would see that I was so very lost.

He did.

"She does not understand-"

"Then perhaps it isn't so!" Lancelot all but shouted, cutting Arthur off. Arthur gazed calmly back at Lancelot who seemed deeply upset.

"Still, she can fight." Announced Galahad to anyone who cared to listen.

"So can any Briton." Replied the stoic Tristan who stood staring at me with a hidden curiosity behind his veiled eyes.

"Arthur, she is just a gi-" Began the man with the scar.

"She's a woman, and an innocent one at tha'." Agreed the large man.

"Dagonet, Bors, stay out of this. All of you stay out of this." One word from Arthur and they all kept quiet but how they felt was still obvious in each of their eyes.

My gaze returned to the cut on my hand, it was already healing up quite nicely. If I pointed that out then maybe they would realize there was nothing to worry about.

"Look! It's healing up already. No worries!" I held up my hand with a forced grin. I wasn't expecting the looks of horror that I received. "Is there something wrong?"

Gawain's eyes drew shut in pain; Lancelot gaped at me before clenching his jaw and turning away. Dagonet and Bors stared slack-jawed, while Galahad stood still in his tracks, eyebrows furrowed, while Tristan almost smiled… almost.

"Put her back." Voice firm, and emotion pushed down into the depths of his soul Arthur looked to Gawain and then back at me. "Put her back."

Put me back? _He can't._

"No!" He stopped midway to the door and turned, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "How can you do this? I don't know what I have done to you all or who you think I am but I can assure you sir I mean you no harm. I can't even do you any harm! I am just a girl! I have a family, friends, I live in a little hut, I eat, drink and dream the same things you do! The longer I stay here the longer it will take for me to get home, for me to find Arlene! I don't know what I have done to deserve this punishment I do not understand this cruelty. Please! Just help me, please!" I pleaded with all of what was left of my heart. He was good man inside I knew it. It was silent as I sat on my knees begging for my freedom to go home. To find my mistress and to be back fighting the Saxon invaders, back where I belonged. His eyes bore into mine. He knew - he knew I had no idea what was going on, he knew I was innocent I could see it. He would let me go, he would.

"Dream, you say?"

"Yes, I dream."

"Are these good dreams?"

Silence. I was incapable of lying to this man. "You do not sleep now, do you?"

I shook my head quietly.

"I do not know why, I cannot find peace my Lord." I all but whispered this part. "Ever since I started this journey I have encountered feelings and things that I have never known."

His interest was piqued now along with the rest of the knights. If I were going to spill my guts, now would be a marvelous time. It may even save my life, as Arthur seemed intent on keeping me captive. He strode towards my kneeling form and crouched down on one knee, his gaze lifting mine.

"What things have you seen?"

Swallowing, I held back the tears that none of them could see. I would not allow myself to ever cry before these men, it was a sign of weakness that my uncle had taught me never to reveal.

"In the hills," I swallowed once more, licking my lips, "there was a slope… a storm came and I could no longer see the trail ahead. I left Chance-" I caught his look of confusion, "he was my horse. I left him on the trail and I climbed up out of the wind. There was a smell. A horrid smell." I shook my head and closed my eyes wondering whether I should continue or not. They would think me mad. "I was curious, I thought I heard voices. I thought it was just the exhaustion but I followed anyway. I went into the trees… and… something moved, there was something or someone in there." Frowning I focused on his face once more, it seemed more empathetic.

"Go on little one." Keeping down the smile that threatened to show itself, I swallowed back the tears that stung my eyes.

"I asked whatever it was to show itself. Then, well then the strangest thing happened… there was laughter on the wind, all around. Like, like imps they were. I called out once more and the sound halted so suddenly."

"Then what?" Dagonet looked to me, absorbed by my tale.

"Then I ran," I said it simply, lightening my tone. "I ran as hard and as fast as I could. Eventually I looked behind me and ended up falling to my hands and knees. It was then that I realized I had found the source of the smell…" Sitting up onto my haunches I looked at each man in turn before my eyes rested on Arthur once more, "There were bodies. Row upon row of bodies… faceless men, skewered on trees. Rotting, they had been there for sometime… the maggots they…" trailing off I went into a daze as the vivid images returned to my head. "Some of them, they had no skin… no features…"

A hand rested on my shoulder and I looked into the face of the man from my dream. Jumping back in surprise I landed on my backside with a thud only to realize that it was Arthur and not the imaginary man.

"We have seen the same, girl, you are not alone." I supposed Dagonet thought that was comfort.

"Then you understand! Please. Now will you help me? Arlene, she is still out there and I must find her. I **must**." Again Arthur touched my shoulder in comfort but this time I did not move away.

"Your friend isn't coming back." Lancelot seemed a cold and unfeeling creature, and at that moment I could not have despised anyone more. Before anyone could reprimand him he turned and stalked off.

Breathing out in disbelief I gazed sadly at Arthur.

"He is wrong isn't he?" He made no move. "Lancelot is wrong?" For the first time since we met, he averted my eyes.

They say that time heals… time never did heal. My suffering, as my scars, only strengthened with age…


End file.
